Page 8 of An Evil Heart
“Yeah, Chief.”
“Doc Coblentz thinks this victim may have been killed with a crossbow,” I tell him.
“Holy shit.”
“Not confirmed, but we’ve got entry and exit wounds, so the bolt may have gone clean through.”
He nods. “You want me to look around? See what I can find?”
I look at the bicycle and try to ascertain which direction the victim mayhave been traveling. “Hard to tell which direction he was going, but might be a good idea to start with the woods there on the east side of the road.”
“I’m on it.”
“I’ve got another officer on the way to help.”
“Got it.”
I thank him and walk back to the victim, turn my attention to Doc. “Any idea how long he’s been dead?”
“Not long,” the doc tells me. “There’s no livor present. There’s no rigor, both of which begin at around the two-hour mark, give or take.”
“So it just happened,” I murmur.
The doc studies the platter-size pool of blood. Gently, he pulls open one of the eyelids and sighs. “My best guess is one to two hours, Kate. Of course, there are a lot of variables, so that time frame is not set in stone. I’ll be able to tell you more once I get a core body temp.”
I get to my feet, and I’m aware of the dull throb of anxiety in my gut. I look down at the victim. The position of the body. The bicycle. The lunch box. I take in the amount of blood that’s leaked from his mouth. That’s when I notice the quarter-size spot of blood on the asphalt beneath the back of his head.
“Doc?” I motion toward the blood. “Is there some kind of wound on the back of his head?”
The doc leans closer to the victim and shifts the head slightly. Sure enough, a tuft of hair is matted with blood. Using his fingertips, he separates the hair so that the scalp is visible. “Looks like a laceration.”
“Something that happened in the fall, maybe?” Even as I ask the question, I realize it’s not in a place that would be injured in the course of a fall.
“This looks like a penetrating wound,” he says.
I stare at him, flummoxed. In the back of my mind, I recall a suicideI investigated a couple of years ago. A man put the muzzle of a revolver in his mouth and pulled the trigger. I think of the damage done. The angle of the bullet. Most importantly,the location of the exit wound.
“Doc, is it possible there’s another wound… inside the mouth?”
“It would explain the heavy bleeding.” Grimacing, as if he knows where my mind has taken me, he looks down at the victim. “Kate, if this manwaskilled with a bolt from a crossbow as we suspect, I think it’s safe to say it was not self-inflicted.”
“Even if it was some kind of bizarre accident, someone would have had to take the crossbow.”
“It appears we have a puzzle on our hands.” The doc sits back on his heels, his expression perplexed. “I’m not going to be able to explain any of this until I get him on the table.”
“We’re going to need to bag his hands,” I say.
“You got it.”
While the doc works, I look around, taking in the logistics of the scene. A second deputy has arrived and is tapping a length of rebar into the ground so he can finish taping off the area. I spot Skid in the woods with another deputy, ostensibly looking for a bolt from the crossbow. I look across the open field. The pond where a family of ducks flaps their wings. The smattering of trees growing alongside the fence. Such a peaceful, bucolic stretch of road. Who saw fit to shoot a young Amish man with a crossbow, possibly twice? Someone who then had the wherewithal to remove the bolts and take them.
Pulling out my cell, I dial Dispatch.
Lois picks up on the first ring. “Hey, Chief. Any news on that DB?”
“I need you to run Aden Karn through LEADS,” I say, referring to the Law Enforcement Automated Data System. I spell both the first and last names. “Check for warrants. If he’s been in trouble. If there have been anycalls to his home.” I recite the address from his ID. “Find out who owns the property. Find out if anyone else lives there.”
“You got it.”
